He reared back so he could watch. Helena’s body was on display for him, her bottom lush and full. He gripped her hips and pumped into her, his cock disappearing within her perfect pink folds before gliding out again, glistening with her dew.
“Do you like it when I fuck you, Helena?” he asked, the dams inside him bursting open.
He was awash in wickedness and sin. Later, he would worry over what he had said and done, the boundaries they had crossed this night. For now, all he wanted was to revel in this sensual onslaught.
“I love it,” she said, breathless as she met him thrust for thrust. “I love the way you fuck me, Gabe. I love…”
She never finished what she had been about to say, because in the next instant, she convulsed on him, milking his cock as she spent. He could not keep himself from coming as well. On a guttural growl, Gabe lodged his cock deep one last time, filling her with his seed as she tremored around him and slumped against the tub.
The release was so powerful, it took Gabe a few moments to return to himself. When the delirium of his crisis faded, he realized he was still semihard inside her, his chest pressed to her sweat-slicked back. She had been about to tell him she loved him, he feared. But reckless fool that he was, instead of her words turning him cold, they had heightened his desire. And now, he wanted her again.
What the devil was the matter with him?
He had intended to keep his distance this evening, and yet he was turning into a raging satyr. He had to get out of this bathroom and return to the safe haven of his own chamber before he made love to her again.
He kissed her cheek and forced himself to withdraw from the sweet haven of her body. Then he drew up his dressing gown, averting his gaze from the temptation she presented. “Thank you, my dear. I bid you good night.”
As he hastened his escape, Gabe inwardly kicked himself in the arse.
What a prig he had sounded like.
He had never hated himself more.
Chapter Twenty
Only a villain would deny us our right.
—From Lady’s Suffrage Society Times
The last person Helena expected to pay a call upon her was Lord Algernon Forsyte. The moment he entered the blue salon, dread squeezed her heart in its icy grasp. She knew instinctively that no good could come of his visit. Nor of the smug look on his countenance.
Still, she strove to settle her inner tumult and dipped into a curtsy to match his bow. “Lord Algernon, what a pleasure to see you again.”
He took her hand in his, raising it to his lips for a kiss. “The pleasure is all mine, Lady Huntingdon. Where is Lord Huntingdon this lovely afternoon? It has been a few weeks since our paths have crossed.”
“My husband is not at home,” she managed, withdrawing her hand from his grasp as the urge to wipe her hand upon her skirts rose within her.
How had she ever contemplated ruining herself with his aid? Her desperation had been not just reckless, but foolish as well.
“A shame, that.” Lord Algernon’s gaze raked over her form in a bold and assessing fashion. “Fortunately, Huntingdon is not the one I wished to see today. You are, my dear countess.”
More misgiving blossomed within her. She stepped away from him, deeming it prudent to increase the distance. His cologne was overwhelming, filling her with the urge to sneeze. There also lingered on the air a faint whiff of hair grease and spirits, mingling with tobacco and linen in need of a fine laundering. Did the man not realize covering himself in scent did nothing to cloak his lack of care in his appearance?
She cleared her throat to chase away the unpleasant odors. “Forgive me, Lord Algernon, but I fail to see a reason for you to call upon me.”
He cocked his head at her, flashing a sly grin. “Can you not, my lady? Because I can think of many. Specifically, one thousand pounds’ worth.”
“One thousand pounds?” She stared at him, failing to understand.
“Yes, Lady Huntingdon, one thousand pounds.” He raised a brow. “Recently, I came into a bit of misfortune, and I find myself in need of funds. Therefore, I am making calls upon all those indebted to me. You are one such person.”
She stiffened. “I am hardly indebted to you, my lord.”
“On the contrary, my lady. You arranged for an assignation with me, did you not?”
Helena refused to answer. For they both already knew she had.
“I think it is best if you leave now, Lord Algernon,” she told him frostily. “I owe you nothing. You shall have to collect your thousand pounds from someone else.”
“I am afraid leaving would not be in my best interest.” He moved toward her. “You are wrong to think you owe me nothing. It is thanks to me that you find yourself the Countess of Huntingdon. And what a clever jade you are, entrapping him into marriage when all London knows the earl was betrothed to Lady Beatrice first. Tell me, my lady, did you allow him to toss up your skirts at my bachelor residence, or did you go somewhere else for the honor?”
She would have slapped him for his impertinence were he nearer, the despicable cad. “If you will not leave, Lord Algernon, I shall have you thrown out.”
“I do not think you will, my dear countess,” he countered smoothly. “You see, there is something I have of yours, something which shall only be returned upon my receipt of the one thousand pounds.”
Instantly, she thought of the necklace she had lost. “I will not be coerced into giving you funds in return for anything.”
“Ah, I see your mind feverishly working,” Lord Algernon said. “However, you may wish to rethink your opinion on the matter. The item in question is a pearl necklace with an emerald pendant. One you are known to wear frequently. I do not see you wearing it today. Could it be because you left it on the floor of my chamber?”
Her necklace. Good heavens. She had noticed it missing that day, but in the madness which had followed, it had fallen from her mind.
Her fingers sank into her silken skirts, crushing them. “Your possession of a necklace hardly means anything, Lord Algernon.”
“Perhaps not to you, but I dare say it would mean a great deal to the gossips and the scandal mongers.” His smile turned nasty. “Imagine the details which could circulate. Such shocking tales. I do not suppose your husband would be pleased if all England knew what a scheming harlot he has taken as his countess.”
The thought of her plot to ruin herself being turned into fodder for the gossip mill made bile rise up her throat. As did the notion of the shame it would bring upon Gabe. They were newly married, and he placed such high importance upon his sense of honor and duty. They had only just begun to find a tentative truce. Scandal of the sort Lord Algernon threatened could have a devastating effect upon them both.
Still, she would not be strong-armed into doing this villain’s bidding. “My husband is aware of the reason I was attempting to ruin my reputation. It was solely to avoid an unwanted betrothal and marriage.”
“Do you suppose anyone will give a damn about the reasons, Lady Huntingdon?” Lord Algernon sneered. “I think not. They will be only too eager for fresh scandal. Imagine, if you will, the great Earl of Huntingdon’s reason for hastily abandoning his betrothed and marrying you. I will happily tell everyone I had you first.”
She recoiled at his last threat, for it was what she feared he had been intimating. “That would be a lie.”
“Yes, but who has your necklace, my lady?” He raised a brow, victory in his voice. “You never should have been so reckless, attempting to ruin your reputation. If you had taken greater care, you would not find yourself in this position. However, you did. I need one thousand pounds to settle some gambling debts, and you need the return of your necklace. It seems an honest trade.”
Nothing about the trade was honest, and they both knew it.
“I do not have one thousand pounds,” she said, for it was the truth. Her dowry was modest, and she did not have all the funds immediately at her disposal as Huntingdon had invested many of them with her
blessing.
“Your husband has that and more,” Lord Algernon countered.
Correctly, drat him, for Gabe’s wealth was undeniable and well-known. And yet, she could not ask Gabe for money to pay for Lord Algernon’s silence. Just when she felt as if they were making progress in their marriage, he withdrew. Their evenings were spent in passion and by day, they remained the same polite earl and countess who were virtual strangers to each other. She feared that broaching the topic would shatter what little Gabe was willing to share with her.
“He will not give you a thousand pounds,” she said, knowing it was true.
Even if she went to Gabe with the request, he would be outraged. He would likely charge instantly to Lord Algernon’s apartments, and she could only shudder to consider the consequences of such a meeting.
“No, he will not.” Lord Algernon smiled again. “You, however, will, my dear countess. That is why I have sought you out. One thousand pounds in return for my lifelong silence and the necklace. Say nothing to your sainted earl of the matter. If you do, I will go to the gossip rags with my sordid tale, but I shall make it worse by letting everyone know Huntingdon wedded you after our affaire out of sympathy. Bring the funds to me tomorrow at two o’clock in the afternoon, or your secret will be shared with the world. And I dare say your husband will never forgive you for the shame you shall bring upon him.”
Helena stared at him, stricken, fearing he could be right.
She had already forced Gabe into this marriage. If she ruined his reputation, she did not know what would happen to the progress they had made. The last few days had given her a glimmer of hope they could have a happy marriage in the future, and now, it seemed it would be ruthlessly snatched away.
Unless she did as the insidious man before her demanded.
Lord Algernon bowed again. “I shall leave you to think upon your choices, Lady Huntingdon. I trust you will reach the right one, and that you know the direction to my rooms.”
With that parting shot, he stalked from the blue salon, taking all her incipient hopes with him.
Lord Algernon Forsyte was feeling quite pleased as he entered the carriage which had been awaiting him. The equipage was sleek and well-kept, the Moroccan leather squabs oiled and comfortable. Different than the conveyances in which he could ordinarily afford to travel, that much was true. Fortunately, Lady Beatrice Knightbridge hailed from a family flush in funds. It was about the only thing to recommend her aside from her bubbies.
Fat purses and fat bubbies.
Lord Algernon appreciated both, and not necessarily in that order. Well, he also appreciated brandy and gin, but that was to be expected. What he did not appreciate, however, was a frigid female. And Lady Beatrice was decidedly that. He did not think he had ever met a colder fish.
Further proof of his grim supposition was provided by the manner in which she stiffened and shoved him to the bench opposite hers when he attempted to seat himself at her side.
“Do not crowd me, you oaf,” she snapped. “Your seat is over there.”
Lord Algernon settled himself on the bench and raked her prim, buttoned-up form with a disdainful glare. “I thought you might at least give me a kiss after my efforts on your behalf today. One could say it is the least you could do. Instead, you are more swaddled than a babe.”
His chief objection was that he could not see the only part of her that rendered her somewhat tolerable. Although the day was warm, later summer upon them, she had donned a drab gray walking gown fastened all the way to her throat with a pelisse gathered atop the unsightly affair.
“I would sooner set my lips upon an eel,” she told him crisply as the carriage rocked into motion.
“I have an eel for you to kiss,” he suggested lewdly, just to nettle her.
She blinked at him, his double entendre apparently lost upon her. “Of course a man like you would eat eels for his dinner. I ought not to be surprised.”
Eels were easily and cheaply had, and he well understood her insult. He supposed he, in turn, should not be surprised she had not comprehended his. Of course, he had meant she ought to kiss his cock, and damn him if the notion of Lady Beatrice doing so did not make him harder than a fire poker, right then and there.
He inhaled deeply to chase away the lust pounding in his loins, for it would not, sadly, be satisfied by the prim lady opposite him. “One would think you more accommodating of a man who has just done everything you asked.”
She inhaled slowly, then released the breath. “It is done, then?”
He nodded at her query, trying to stifle a sudden, unexpected surge of guilt. The devil of it was, he enjoyed Lady Helena Davenport—er, Lady Huntingdon. She was beautiful and tall, with legs a man could not help but imagine wrapped around his waist. If he had not been so bloody soused the night he had lost her in a hand of cards to Huntingdon, he would have enjoyed those damned legs.
And that rapturous bosom. Lady Huntingdon’s breasts were truly outstanding. Like twin mounts of blancmange, he had no doubt, topped with the sweet cherries of her luscious nipples. A dessert course in feminine form. Why, he could have covered them in an effusion of his manly cream…
Damn, when was the last time he had fucked a decent pair of bubbies?
The pointed end of a leather boot connected with his shins, sending pain searing through him. He howled, rubbing the wounded leg and pinning Lady Beatrice with his most displeased glower. “What the devil is the matter with you, kicking a man who has just done your bidding?”
“I kicked you because you have yet to confirm you have indeed done my bidding,” she said coldly. “I asked you if it was done, and your response was to stare at my person as if you were eying a feast laid before you.”
Color tinted her cheekbones.
She was comely, Lady Beatrice. But he hated to tell her he had not been looking at her so much as he had been fantasizing about her rival, laid bare before him. Ah, if only he had not had the devil’s own luck that night…
“It is done,” he forced out instead of entertaining further lewd thoughts of the new Countess of Huntingdon, however well-deserved they might be. He needed to remind his cock that bedding Lady Huntingdon would not pay his gambling debts. But playing Lady Beatrice’s games would.
The lady in question’s eyes went wide, a cat-in-the-cream smile curving her lips. “Do you think she will come to your chambers as arranged?”
In truth, he could not be certain. He had blustered his way through the interview with Lady Huntingdon, his bravado fortified by the gin Lady Beatrice had offered him on the ride to Wickley House. The countess had seemed suitably affected by his claims. However, whether or not she would appear with one thousand pounds on the morrow was anyone’s guess.
“Of course she will,” Algernon said smoothly. “She was quivering in her petticoats at the notion of being connected to me through the gossipmongers and the damage it might do to the earl.”
Lady Beatrice nodded, her nostrils flaring. “That is most excellent news, my lord. Most excellent indeed. The rest of my plan shall proceed tomorrow then, as we discussed.”
Algernon grinned. “It will as long as I have the funds you promised me, Lady Beatrice.”
With a disapproving sniff, she reached into her reticule, extracting a bank note. “You will have half the monies today and half tomorrow, upon the full execution of my plan.”
He plucked the bank note from her gloved fingers. “That is not what we discussed, my lady.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I do not trust you, Lord Algernon. Until I have what I want, you shall not have what you desire either.”
Half the funds he had demanded for his part in this farce she had concocted in her mad little mind was more than enough to settle his debts and leave him some to spare. Which meant Algernon was going to have an excellent night.
He tucked the note into his coat. “Fair enough, my lady. Just what is it you want tomorrow?”
Lady Beatrice’s smile was cold and calculated. “Everyt
hing I deserve.” She paused, her smile fading. “And everything Lady Helena Davenport deserves as well.”
Algernon did not bother to remind her Lady Helena was the Countess of Huntingdon now. He had money in his pocket and the prospect of a decidedly jolly evening awaiting him.
He had every intention of getting properly drunk and then fucking the most luscious pair of bubbies to be found. And the tightest cunny, while he was at it.
Chapter Twenty-One
We strongly believe, based upon sound reasoning and the example we have in the Territory of Wyoming in the United States, that, contrary to the fierce-minded opponents of women’s suffrage, domestic discord will be avoided, rather than caused, by the universal extension of the Parliamentary franchise.
—From Lady’s Suffrage Society Times
Seated in the crimson drawing room that evening following dinner, Gabe watched Helena play the grand piano. The song was a mournful Chopin, and she played it with an elegant proficiency he could not help but to admire. Her dainty fingers traveled over the ivory without missing a single note.
In spite of his every intention to cast thoughts of Lady Beatrice from his mind, he could not help but to compare Helena’s skill to that of his former betrothed. Along with her loveliness and passion, her talent at the piano far exceeded that of the woman he would have made his countess. More reason to wonder at his grandfather’s plans. Had he been right in thinking Lady Beatrice would have made the ideal countess? Wrong to believe that love and passion had been the downfall of his parents’ marriage?
More and more, the answer to those questions grew murky.
Gabe sipped his port as he allowed the music his wife was creating to wind around his senses, wrapping him in a pleasant state of calm. He and Helena had settled into a comfortable rhythm. Polite breakfasts, days spent apart, and nights together, when they could slake their mutual passions.
Lady Reckless (Notorious Ladies of London Book 3) Page 22
